


Bonding in Bondage

by Writes_by_Night



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Bonding, Come Inflation, Feminization, Forced Feminization, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sherlock, Knotting, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Pain, Rape, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Rutting, Spanking, Triple Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, as part of the triple penetration, foot sex, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8752168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writes_by_Night/pseuds/Writes_by_Night
Summary: Sherlock finds out the hard way that his scent blockers are no match for a flatmate in rut.  Alpha John finds out the hard way that Sherlock is an omega.
Basically, this story is porn for fantasy masochists (as in, those who enjoy the fantasy of being hurt, rather than the actuality of being hurt.  Or in this case, the fantasy of being hurt lived through Sherlock).  It definitely includes rape, but of the 'sex pollen' variety prevalent in Omega verse in that their hormones/instincts made them do it.  That said, John gives Sherlock a very rough time.  Heed the tags and be warned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not associated with the tv show Sherlock. Nor do I own any rights to the show or make any money from this story.
> 
> WARNINGS: As I said in the summary, this story goes dark pretty fast. John is not nice in this. There is rape. He purposely causes Sherlock pain, both through physical attack and through verbal humiliation. That said, John is not evil; he is a product of his universe. If Sherlock's body reacted the way it was supposed to by going into heat, Sherlock probably would have welcomed his advances, pain and all. As such, this is a fantasy story. If it happened in the real world, Sherlock would be seriously injured and John would be deserving of prison. In fantasy world, however, they are likely to skip off into the sunset together. If this bothers you, I suggest you do not read.

Sherlock was sleeping.  No matter what John likes to imply, this was not a rare occurrence.  He may not follow a ridiculous pattern based upon the position of the sun, but sleep he did.  After two days of complete, adrenalin filled wakefulness, he was ready to spend the next day in bed, deep in slumber until he had made up for all the hours awake.  So when a heavy body joined him in his bed, a nose burrowing into his neck and fingers sliding intimately over his hip to dip beneath the edge of his pants, he responded by making a sort of humming noise and then trying to twist away and bury himself deeper into his pillows.

“Naughty, Sherlock,” a familiar voice growled in his ear.  “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

“G’way, John.” Sherlock mumbled back.  “Sleep time now.”

“Is it now?” John’s voice asked, his body still flush against Sherlock’s, his scent heavy and familiar and male.  _I should be afraid_ , the small part of Sherlock’s brain that wasn’t preoccupied with trying to shut down suggested.  _I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this_.  Except it was impossible to muster up the energy to be afraid, not least because this was _John_.  There was nothing safer than John.

John who was suckling at his neck now, his body a furnace against Sherlock’s, half pinning him onto the mattress.  Sherlock’s sleep addled brain still refused to see John as a threat, not even when Sherlock realized the large thing rubbing against his hip was not an arm, as both hands were otherwise occupied.  One to slide possessively over his body, drawing him in, the other delving ever further beneath his pants, seeking out Sherlock’s most intimate regions.

“John,” Sherlock whined when fingers found their way between his legs to slide over his sensitive omega cunt.  Sherlock tried to twist away again but John had a firmer hold of him this time and the hand remained firmly down his pants, fingers gently massaging at his hole.  Still half asleep, Sherlock continued to squirm and John let out a deep moan, pressing his length more firmly into Sherlock’s writhing body, his entire hand stuffed down Sherlock’s pants now grasping Sherlock’s most intimate regions, his palm pressed hard over his cunt and his fingers pushing at Sherlock’s limp prick.  Teeth ran roughly down Sherlock’s neck, not quite breaking the skin as they dug into his shoulder, and John’s heavy body was rolling itself entirely on top of Sherlock’s, pinning him more firmly into the bed.

“John,” Sherlock whined again, blinking his eyes open and then making a more coordinated effort to push John off of him.  The entire room smelt of John now, a deep and musky scent that somehow seemed to steal away at Sherlock’s strength as surely as his lack of sleep did.  Not that Sherlock was stronger than John when Sherlock was at his best.  His own nature was against him in that regard; alphas were naturally stronger than omegas, and John was the most alpha of alphas that Sherlock knew.  What John had not known, at least up to that moment, was that Sherlock was not the beta he presented himself to be.

His suppressants were supposed to stop alphas, even strong alphas like John, from scenting his omega nature.   Later, much later, Sherlock would guess that he hadn’t taken into account the dual threat of living with an alpha, which meant John was more than familiar with Sherlock’s natural, if suppressed, scent, along with John’s heightened sense of smell upon entering rut.

Because John was definitely in rut.  In hindsight, the signs of the impending rut had been there all day in John’s growing aggression and irritability, in the way he had been paying more than the usual attention to any passing omegas.  Sherlock hadn’t noticed at the time.  John often grew irritable around the second or third day of a case even if he had been allowed a couple of hours of sleep, he was always aggressive towards criminals, and he was likewise always interested in passing omegas.  If he had been more so this last day, well, Sherlock had a case.  He didn’t need to worry about John and his moods.

John might also have mentioned something about intending to leave for a bit.  Probably to hook up with an omega or pass the time in an alpha safe house with omega scented toys.  Obviously, John had waited too long because his dick was humping against Sherlock’s groin, hands groping aggressively, and his eyes were large and dark when he moved his face from Sherlock’s neck to stare the blinking omega right in the eyes.

“I’m going to fuck you,” John said, his tone almost conversational, and not the animalistic grunting that movies liked to devolve alphas into voicing, for all that John’s voice was more gravelly than was the norm.  “I’m going to fuck you as deep as your hole can take, and then I’m going to fuck you deeper, and you’re going to take it and take it while I pound your cunt into the shape of my dick so it can make itself at home inside you and fill it up with babies.  Gonna fill you so full your belly’s gonna bulge like the pregnant bitch you’re about to be, and I’m gonna knot you and bond you and breed you and show everyone at the yard you’re my omega bitch.”

This should definitely have alarmed Sherlock.  This wasn’t what he had ever wanted, was it?  To be owned, to be bred, to be paraded.  He had worked hard to make sure not a single person in the world, outside his own family, knew his gender, and John was moments away from destroying that illusion forever in the worst way possible.

But it was _John_.  And Sherlock was tired.  And it was John.  His body was firm and warm and his scent familiar and comfortable, and in spite of himself, Sherlock was drifting back towards sleep.

At least he was until he felt the sudden sharp burn of a fingertip intruding inside his tight, dry hole.

He startled completely awake with a wounded squeak, jerking instinctively to escape the intrusion and failing utterly.  A strong alpha body held him and the finger pushed deeper, burning as it went, his passage far too dry, his hole unused to objects of any size entering it.  He’d never so much as stuck his own fingers there, preferring to ignore his omega nature entirely and taking drugs to avoid the heats that would have made ignoring his anatomy impossible.

Awake at last, Sherlock finally made a serious and concerted effort to escape John’s hold, to get the finger out of him and John off him, to run for the door, to get away before John had taken something Sherlock could never get back.

“So it is true!” John said, sounding delighted, his horrifically strong and army trained body effortlessly thwarting the escape.  “You are a virgin!  Now, why aren’t you wet for me?”  The second was said in a displeased growl, the finger in his cunt jabbing with furious cruelty at Sherlock’s sensitive passage and forcing from his lips a second yelp of pain.

Sherlock was a genius.  He was smarter than John on a normal day.  Now, with all John’s brain power diving into his lower regions, and Sherlock fully awake, the difference in their intellects should have been staggering.  Sherlock should be smart enough to trick John somehow and escape.

Trying to twist free didn’t work.  Squirming just seemed to make John more excited.  An attempt to go on the attack and knee at John’s groin was an embarrassing failure.  Sherlock had his intellect but John was already on him, his finger in him, and for the first time, it actually occurred to Sherlock that he might not actually be able to get away.  That John was going to fuck his virgin cunt, dry or not, aroused or not, for the full length of John’s rut.  Ruts, with an omega present, generally lasted about six hours.  Without an omega, they could last anywhere from two to six days.  John was with an omega, but those shorter ruts were meant to be with an omega who fully reacted to the alpha’s rut with a pseudo heat.

Sherlock had been on suppressants meant to stop heats from happening. He barely scented as an omega at all.  This wasn’t going to be a quick six hour coupling.  Sherlock would be lucky if it ended after two days.  Days of being fucked hard by a massive alpha cock, fucked and knotted and filled.

Fighting John was doing nothing but making John more aroused.  Sherlock couldn’t even make John pull his finger out of his vaginal hole, let alone push the man off him.  Sherlock changed tactics.

“John, it hurts!”

The effect was immediate, the finger jerking out of him so fast his arm ripped his pants.  That was all John withdrew, however.  If anything, the other arm drew him closer, John’s body almost crushing as he forced Sherlock to take his full weight.

“Shh,” John cooed soothingly.  “Is pussy not ready for his milk yet?  Don’t worry, your pussy was made for my fat cock.  I’m going to take such good care of my omega bitch.”

Not quite daring to say exactly what Sherlock thought of that, not with John so fully surrounding him, he settled on pointing out the obvious.

“I’m on suppressants to stop heats, John.  This isn’t going to work.”

“Shh,” John cooed again, the hand down his pants once again cupping Sherlock’s groin and the other moving to pet Sherlock’s hair soothingly.  And possibly the worst part was that it was soothing.  It was John.  And, as much as Sherlock had tried to deny it and to hide from it, a very large part of him wanted John.  Wanted to spread his legs and bond and even to breed because it wouldn’t just be being owned and used, it would be a bond with John.  It would be a way to make more Johns.  To never ever be alone.  But giving into that want was never going to happen because Sherlock would have had to give up too much.

And now it was too late, and even if Sherlock had wanted this, wanted it desperately, his body wasn’t ready.  Joining now would hurt, and a bond might not properly form, and there was a very real chance that John would hate him afterwards for tricking him and lying about his nature, and there wouldn’t even be a true bond to stop John from just leaving.  John could fuck him and use him and ruin him and then just leave him.

And all Sherlock had wanted was some sleep.

“Naughty pussy,” John growled, still petting Sherlock’s hair and giving Sherlock conflicting feelings of enjoying the sensation and fearing what was to come.  “Don’t worry, pet, I can get you good and wet.”

And then John was maneuvering them, throwing the covers back completely to leave them both exposed while he went up on his knees, no longer rubbing himself against Sherlock’s bare skin and for the first time Sherlock got a long and proper look at the alpha. 

Most of Sherlock’s mind was preoccupied with finding a way to use this change in position to escape, but the part of Sherlock that was always taking in the world simply observed.  John was completely naked, except for one sock on his right foot.  His face was flushed but his expression was almost gentle, just as though he weren’t holding another man down with intentions of rutting in his virgin hole.  His penis was engorged and Sherlock found far too much of his brain preoccupied by the sheer size of the thing.  It drew his eyes to it and he caught himself simply staring.  Even by alpha standards, the girth of John’s cock was massive to behold, with a length to match.  Then he tried to imagine that monstrous length pressing inside his hole, his hole that still felt a bit tender and raw from just a single finger, and immediately all brain power returned to flight mode.

Most of the weight holding him was gone.  Sherlock himself was naked except for his now torn pants, completely vulnerable, and almost before he made the decision his lithe body was moving, diving for the side of the bed.

He actually made it out of the room and halfway to the flat’s door when he was tackled roughly to the ground, a hard alpha body pinning him to the unyielding floor, teeth biting sharply into his shoulder while John growled deep in his chest.

Sherlock refused to submit this time, fighting back with such unexpected savagery that he actually managed to throw John off him, his fingers clawing red lines across John’s skin and with a wild growl of his own Sherlock attempted to end things once and for all by putting all his strength behind a hard kick towards that massive target that was John’s balls.

He missed.  John saw the threat and twisted aside, grabbing Sherlock’s leg and thrusting if forward with Sherlock’s own momentum and sending him into a chair with a tremendous crash of splinters and wood.

One moment Sherlock was on the brink of triumph and escape, and the next his entire body was dazed and breathless and in the next ridiculously strong arms were hauling him upwards, and there was a furious snarl of pure rage, and then John had dragged him over to the couch and thrown Sherlock forcefully over one knee, the other one sandwiched against his legs and holding him in place with his bottom in the air and his head upside down at the floor while John’s heavy cock and balls were wedged obscenely against Sherlock’s groin.

He honestly couldn’t say how he had come to be in this position, but by the time he recovered enough to fight it, it was already too late.

“Naughty little bitch,” his alpha growled, “ _Stay still_!”  And the command in John’s voice was so strong that it actually stopped Sherlock from making his next move, which had been to bite John in the ankle.  And before Sherlock really had time to contemplate his new position over John’s knee, John’s hand smacked Sherlock’s bottom once, then again, and then again. 

Sherlock’s face went bright red in humiliation as he came to understand the situation fully.  He was put over John’s knee and he was being smacked like a child.  He didn’t have long to contemplate this humiliation, however, because the fact of being spanked was quickly being replaced by the fact that he was being spanked _hard_.  John was putting what felt like his full alpha strength behind the blows and those blows were raining down fast.  Within seconds, Sherlock’s entire bottom was bright red and the blows weren’t stopping or slowing down.  John’s hand landed with wild abandon, sounding rather like the hard patter of rain so quickly did his hand fall, and it took less than half a minute for Sherlock’s resolve move from attacking and fighting to clinging to John’s leg and doing his utmost not to start sobbing embarrassingly from the pain.

And still John didn’t stop.  Thirty seconds of his rock hard hand beating Sherlock’s ass and thighs turned into a minute, and then two minutes and he didn’t so much as slow down, let alone grow gentler.  If anything, it felt like John had somehow found the strength to beat him even harder, shifting Sherlock slightly to aim relentlessly at the top of his thighs.

Sherlock’s eyes were streaming with tears at this point, while he desperately tried to suck in breaths past his clogged nose because his mouth had to be kept clenched shut in his efforts to stop his wails of agony.

Because of this, John had been at it for five full minutes before Sherlock even noticed the way John was jerking his hips minutely against Sherlock, sliding his shaft in a sort of beat that ran one thrust for every three slaps of John’s hand.  John was getting off on smacking Sherlock.

Somehow, this realization was all it took to send Sherlock over the edge, and suddenly he was sobbing loudly, helpless to take back the tears or stop the sound.  Secretly, he had rather hoped that vocalizing his pain would reach John and make him decide Sherlock had had enough.

If anything, the hip jerks grew harder, the smacks slowing but also, impossibly, pounding his red bottom even harder, and Sherlock, to his horror, couldn’t seem to stop himself from trying to babble out pleas for mercy.

“Please, John, no more, sorry, please,” poured from Sherlock’s lips in the midst of helpless, agonized sobs.  Finally, finally, John responded, though not at all in the way Sherlock had hoped.

“Mine, bitch,” John growled, “You’ll take what I give you and love it.”  And John stopped smacking him, not that Sherlock’s burning ass acknowledged the reprieve, still glowing and throbbing as it was.  John didn’t give him time to notice it either, instead, shifting Sherlock bodily, forcing his legs apart and leaving his tight sensitive cunt exposed to the air.

“You wanted to kick me in the balls?” John growled, fury still thick in his voice though not so much as to hide the arousal.  “Let’s see how you like it.”  Which was a bit silly, because omegas might have male penises but they didn’t have balls.  Sherlock wasn’t given a chance to mock John for his choice of words, however, as John immediately followed up those words with a cruel smack directly on Sherlock’s exposed cunt.

Sherlock had thought the spanking had hurt.  That was nothing.  This was agony.  Omegas might not have balls but they were extremely sensitive in their vaginal regions, and kneeing an omega in the groin had much the same effect as kneeing a male beta or alpha.  Being smacked there with all an alpha’s strength was just as bad as taking a knee, possibly worse because Sherlock was completely exposed to John and offered him the perfect target to aim for the most sensitive portion, without a chance of Sherlock warding off some of the blow onto his thighs.

And John didn’t stop with one hit.  His hand fell again.  And then again.  Not quite as fast as before; this time he was perfectly synced to the thrusts of his cock, but just as relentless.

The first hit left Sherlock breathless and then gagging at the sheer shock of agony.  By the fifth, when it became very obvious that this torture was going to keep going, Sherlock was struggling desperately for escape, no longer even aware what kind of pleas or cries he was making he did all in his power to twist away, to close his legs, anything to stop the pain.

John had every advantage though, and using his legs and one hand he easily held Sherlock in place, open and exposed, while his other hand mercilessly came down again and again and again.  Occasionally, John would change it up slightly by aiming for Sherlock’s prick or his inner thighs or, for a short while, he spread Sherlock’s ass cheeks and hammered the side of his hand at Sherlock’s anus, as though he wanted to make sure there wasn’t an inch of Sherlock’s private parts that had been spared, but he always soon returned to Sherlock’s cherry red, rapidly purpling cunt.

Finally, just when Sherlock was sure he was about to vomit from the blows, John suddenly brought his hand down and just grabbed at Sherlock’s cunt, squeezing with all his might, and then he twisted them around, poking his long shaft at Sherlock’s hard beaten hole, and with a long groan of sheer ecstasy, John came.

He came all over Sherlock’s pussy and inside it, the head of John’s cock pressed hard against the tight hole, not managing to go inside but managing to force thick ropes of cum in.

Sherlock made no attempt to escape this time, not even with John at his most vulnerable moment, mid-orgasm.  He lay limp and let John wet his hole, his entire body trembling and every millimeter of his ass, thighs and groin radiating a sickening, painful heat with every heart throb.

He wasn’t even sobbing anymore.  He just felt limp.

“There now,” John said, after he had taken another minute to recover.  His massive dick was still hard; the first orgasm of his rut was hardly going to ease that, but his hold was much gentler, as if all his anger had run out with his sperm.  “I told pussy I’d get it nice and wet.”

Then he stooped over and dragged Sherlock’s lower half away from the floor and arranged the longer man in his lap like some strange overgrown child.  He was even kind enough to arrange Sherlock’s bottom between his legs so the sore heat didn’t have to rest on his bony legs.  John’s cock stuck out obscenely over him, wedged up against John’s stomach by Sherlock’s hip.

“Now,” John said, once Sherlock was arranged as he liked.  “Tell your alpha what you did wrong and why you had to be punished.”

Sherlock stared at him in disbelief, but the pain that still radiated in his body after that horrifically overdone smacking stopped him from vocalizing what he really wanted to say.  He still couldn’t quite fight his own pride enough to tell John what John was asking for.  Not even the threat of a second trip over John’s knee was enough for Sherlock to bend that much.  Possibly, a third trip would have been, but it didn’t come to that.

John laughed instead.

“Oh, the look on your face!  You are a naughty boy, but I think you’ve had enough.  I think you’ve pretended to be a beta for so long you’ve forgotten how to behave like a good omega bitch.  Don’t worry.  I know you’ve had enough of my hand for now, even if you are still a naughty little bitch.  Anyway, I’ll be pounding you again soon enough, just in a different way.”

“And how long have you been wanting to smack me?” Sherlock finally said, his voice still thick and hoarse from crying but his tone anything but contrite or submissive.

“A while,” John admitted.  “If I’d known you were an omega before, I don’t think I could have resisted.  Even before you became mine.”

“I’m not yours,” Sherlock snapped back reflexively.  That was a mistake.  Even if Sherlock did think that, he knew better than to tell a rutting alpha that the omega he was trying to rut with wasn’t his.  The effect those words had on John was primal and immediate, the easy going façade evaporating and in an instant Sherlock went from being cuddled in John’s arms to being slammed down on the couch, a dominating alpha pressing bodily on top of him, his teeth tearing into the place where his neck and shoulder met, a deep growl in the alpha’s throat.

“Yours!” Sherlock tried to scream, desperate to take back the words before he triggered a full on claiming.  “I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, John, only yours!”

The words did have a calming effect, the bite going from savage to merely holding him in place.  After a bit went by when nothing more happened, Sherlock left off trying to reassure John’s primal side and started appealing to the nurturer in him.

“Ow.”  That was an understatement.  It wasn’t so much the bite, which had hurt but with the kind of pain omegas tend to experience as almost pleasure.  Alphas are supposed to bite and omegas are supposed to want them to, to invite them to.  The main pain radiated from the way his sore, hot ass had been thrown hard into the couch and then pressed harder still by the alpha’s body.  And there was a spring digging into one of the more sensitive bruises.  Seriously, ow.

Not quite with it enough to actually apologize for unintentionally causing pain (never mind intentionally causing pain), John did ease off the omega a bit, letting go of the bite at last and giving it a gentle lick.  Sherlock sighed.  He knew John wasn’t a complete monster, even if he was an alpha.

And then John was easing Sherlock’s legs apart, maneuvering his hot, slick shaft towards Sherlock’s tight cunt.  Sherlock took that back.  John was the worst of all possible alphas and Sherlock was going to kick him in the balls first chance, no matter if it did lead to a second session over John’s knee.

Desperately, Sherlock tried to close his legs but the squirming made his bottom flare up like someone had lit a fire under him and the pain was just distracting enough that John had his legs apart and the fat head to his cock pushing at Sherlock’s hole before Sherlock could manage to do much more than push pathetically against John’s shoulders and hit his leg with Sherlock’s knee.  John didn’t even seem to notice that Sherlock was resisting, and then in the next moment there was enormous pressure against Sherlock’s sorely beaten cunt and then the sensation of something at least ten times thicker than a finger had forced itself half an inch inside.

Sherlock shrieked at this new kind of agony building on the earlier beating and John froze.

“Too much, too much!” Sherlock shouted at John, not daring to outright tell him to go fuck himself and leave Sherlock out of it, not after the earlier faux pas of ‘not yours’.  “I’m not ready!  I’m not wet enough or loose, or…you’re a doctor, John, somewhere in that head of yours you know how suppressants work.  My body isn’t responding to your rut; you’re going to hurt me.  You’re going to hurt your omega.”

For a moment, Sherlock was sure he’d gotten through and it was going to work.  John would hold off until the power of his pheromones finally overcame the power of Sherlock’s suppressants and sent Sherlock into the proper conditions to be fucked.  If that happened.  Sherlock could only hope.  He didn’t want to be claimed and bonded but if he was going to be, he’d like to be in a haze from heat with his body open and ready.  Not dry and tight and John had to see that, had to see he wasn’t ready, and it was an alpha’s job to take care of his omega.  John was a good man, a good alpha, and he’d see.  Surely he’d at least try to stretch Sherlock first, go in search of lube.

“Poor little pussy,” John said, his voice once more soothing and gentle, one of his hands gently petting Sherlock’s pubic hairs below his belly, and Sherlock found himself relaxing in spite of himself, even with the horrendous stretch of the head of John’s cock still wedged inside him.

“I’ll wet you again, don’t you worry.” John said, leaving the head in place, he started sliding his hand up and down his shaft.  Sherlock lay back resigned, his ass still on fire but not unduly painful, not like during the actual spanking or when he was squirming to escape, and John wasn’t trying to force himself in deeper, even if he was still violating Sherlock’s hole.  His cunt didn’t even hurt as badly as the earlier beating suggested it should.  Omega vaginas are made to take abuse.  If Sherlock had been at all aroused, he might have actually enjoyed being hit there, despite the pain.

John was still going to get a punch to the balls, put perhaps Sherlock would wait until he was fully in his right mind and able to appreciate why he might deserve it and therefore would be less likely to retaliate in kind.  They could get through rut, and so maybe Sherlock would be outed as an omega afterwards; it was John.  It wasn’t so bad.  And thanks to the suppressants, pregnancy was unlikely, so they could just go on as before, only bonded.

“Here, bitch, a bit of help,” John said suddenly, just as Sherlock’s mind was drifting from the situation and his sleepiness from before actually had him half asleep, despite the pain or the fact that John had him in a very precarious position.  Sherlock started, then grimaced as the move reawakened the fire in his bottom and jerked him against the head of John’s cock still stuffed inside him.  John had Sherlock’s hands and guided them towards John’s shaft.  “And you hurt me, I hurt you tenfold.”  The warning was given in an amused tone, but the way he jerked his hips forward, forcing his cock a millimeter deeper into Sherlock’s body, was anything but amusing.

At that moment, Sherlock was quite certain that if John were to hold him down and start fucking him without any more preparation it was going to kill him.  If the head of John’s cock was more than he could handle, and that was after he had already slicked Sherlock’s hole quite a bit from his earlier rutting, then the full length impaling him would rip him to shreds and break his internal organs to bits.  Sherlock would die, and he would die in agony.  And no amount of studies that told him otherwise, that in fact omega bodies were designed to take quite a bit of abuse in that regard, could convince him otherwise.

Sherlock slid his hands on John’s cock, both hands together barely enough for the girth, and John groaned, his hips inadvertently jerking slightly before he could help himself, sending another shock of pain through places Sherlock didn’t know he could feel pain.

“That’s it, bitch,” John groaned.  “Gonna get pussy nice and wet before I break your virgin cunt and burrow my new home inside you.  Gonna beat in you so hard you’ll beg for another good smacking just to get away from my rod.  Gonna fill your belly so full and plug you up and then I’ll dress you in panties like the pussy bitch you are and drag you to the Yard and show off your belly and they’ll all swear you’re nine months pregnant with octuplets, you’ll be that full of my spunk.  And I’ll let them all smell you and feel your hard used cunt and maybe I’ll bend you over and let them take turns smacking your naughty fanny so they’ll all know you’re my omega pussy bitch.”

And all the while John talked, Sherlock ran his hands obediently up and down his shaft, smelling the thick smell of alpha in rut, while John cupped his own balls and gave tiny micro jerks as he held himself back from proper thrusts.  Sherlock’s face was red with humiliation, despite knowing these were just the sorts of things an alpha in rut said to his omega and John’s own jealousy would stop him from actually following through and parading Sherlock like some prize whore in front of everyone Sherlock had to work with.

And still John talked, and still Sherlock participated, not daring to disagree, and feeling utterly horrified to realize he truly didn’t dare talk back.  Because he didn’t want things to get worse.

“And maybe I’ll spread your ass cheeks and I’ll let Donovan and Anderson ram their beta dicks inside you or I’ll let them stick their grown up bits in your mouth and show you what a proper beta prick looks like.  Because this thing here, it barely qualifies for an omega.  I’ve no idea how you ever passed as a beta.  You must have been stuffing your pants.  Are you sure you aren’t just a girl with a girl pussy and tiny bitch boobs?”

John accented these last words by flicking at Sherlock’s flaccid prick.  The worst part was that it was true; while John was extremely large even by alpha standards, Sherlock was tiny even by omega standards.  And Sherlock knew it was a stupid thing to get offended about and that the size of ones penis in no way indicated ones worth as a man.  That didn’t change the fact that, at birth, Sherlock actually had been mistaken for a girl at first, a fact that Mycroft had been relentless about when they were children.  The fact that no one outside his family had seen him naked and therefore could know the size of his prick and tease him about it was more than made up for by the sheer level of torments Mycroft had dished out during his adolescent years before Mycroft had matured beyond such cruelty.

The thought of John humiliating Sherlock in front of Donovan and Anderson, of all people, of implying they were somehow better than him, that John would actually let them fuck him, was worse than being taken over John’s knee and smacked like a child.  There was no way John would do it.  It didn’t stop his face from turning beet red with humiliation, one hand instinctively going to hide his prick from John’s eyes.

John grabbed the hand and put it back on his cock, driving his cock into Sherlock just enough to make a point.  Then, a smile on John’s face, he took Sherlock’s prick between his fingers.

“It is a cute little thing, though, like a doll’s prick.  I could give you something to help puff up your nipples into proper breasts and dress you up and no one would know it was there.”  Sherlock said nothing, especially not that Mycroft actually had made Sherlock dress up like a girl on numerous occasions, and that everyone had been entirely fooled.

“Or I’ll just fuck your bitch hole full of my pups and then help your tits along when they grow nice and round for milking.  I heard a guy once got his male bitch to a c cup size, and he wasn’t even as girly as you already are.  I’ll bet we could get d cups, at least, and then I’ll dress you in a mini mini skirt and bra and panties and I’ll take you on the tube and we can have a bet how many guys grope you and call you a girl.”

While he talked, John casually reached out a hand and started teasing at Sherlock’s nipples, gently and first, then pinching and pulling at them like he was trying to stretch them into breasts right then.  Sherlock choked back pained yelps and rubbed at John’s prick more aggressively.

“I might just make you stand there and take it when they push you up against the pole and stick their grown man dicks inside you.  Then you’ll walk home like a proper little whore, all full of strangers’ spunk.  And then I’ll give you a good hard smacking for being a little bitch whore and letting those men fuck you.  And I’ll tie you to the front step next to a big box of condoms and when I come out in the morning your pussy will be nice and pink and wet and so loose that I’ll shove my whole fist up easy and the whole box of condoms will be empty of condoms and full of money from all the fucks your whore cunt got.  Maybe I’ll do that next time rent is due and you’re being a bitch about money again.”

John paused in playing with Sherlock’s nipples to lean over him and look him in his beet red face, inadvertently forcing the head of his cock in even deeper from the change in position and sending a shudder of pleasure through John and of pain through Sherlock.

“Are you crying?” John asked, studying Sherlock’s face with lustful pleasure.  “Just look at you, I just called you a little whore bitch pussy girl and you’re rubbing my man shaft like I called you princess while you cry like the girl bitch you are.  That’s because you know what you are, really, all this pretending to be a beta and all the time you know you need to be fucked hard and full like a good little bitch.”

And then, right in the middle of this casual sounding observation, John threw back his head, grabbed Sherlock’s hands and held them tightly to his shaft, and screamed out in pleasure as burning hot liquid rushed out of his cock and went deep into Sherlock’s passage.  He could actually feel it spraying deep inside him, as though a hose had been turned on, and it kept coming and coming into places where not even John’s finger had touched him yet.  The sudden liquid felt almost boiling hot in his untouched hole and he could feel it pulsing into him just as he could feel John’s cock pulsing from beneath his hands.

And with a deep groan, John started to press himself deeper, his monstrous dick easing in with the help of his own cum, breaking Sherlock’s pussy open as it went.

“No!” Sherlock shrieked, trying to physically pull at the cock sliding through his hands.  “It’s too much, John!  Please!”

“Need to knot,” John groaned, “Need to fill you now.  You’re all wet for me, hot and wet, all for me.”

“No!  John, that’s you, that’s you that’s wet, I’m not ready yet, I’m too tight, I’m not…John!”

But apparently John had held himself back as long as his own anatomy would allow.  Sherlock let out a helpless sob, still trying uselessly to hold back the inevitable, but John would not be held back.  His head slid in half an inch, and then another, sliding on his own seed, using his alpha strength to break open the closed passage and make it take him.

It hurt.  It was a different kind of pain from being beaten.  It was the pain of being broken into, stretching and tearing and at the same time ramming as the head of John’s cock beat against the closed hole and then stretched it wide to take the rest that was to follow, not letting up in the least.  The only good thing that could be said was that John was going slowly.

Finally, after winning three inches of his cock inside Sherlock’s pussy, John paused.  For a moment Sherlock hoped that John intended to stop there for the moment, that maybe Sherlock was too much trouble and John would just leave it at that and spend another wanking session to get his hole wetter first.  Maybe by then Sherlock would finally start to respond, suppressants or no suppressants.  Then John pulled back and Sherlock had a very brief moment of relief and hope before John grabbed Sherlock’s hips with bruising force and thrust forward like a battering ram.

Sherlock screamed at the unexpected new form of torture, and for a moment John contented himself with a few more slow pushes, painful but not unbearable, before once more he pulled back and rammed himself back in.  After a few more goes like this John finally fell forward over Sherlock and sobbed out, “Oh, god, I need to knot you so bad.”  And then John braced himself, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders, pinning him hard against the couch, and his hips started jerking in hard, desperate thrusts, each one digging him millimeter by millimeter deeper into Sherlock’s body.

John was sobbing as he did it, either from remorse or from the way Sherlock’s body kept denying him full entry or from sheer need.  Sherlock sobbed with him as his body was beaten open and invaded, and he was helpless to do anything but lie there on his agonized bottom and take John deeper and deeper, until Sherlock was sure he could feel John’s dick hammering at his organs and pushing them out of shape.  There was no way that massive dick could fit another inch, he was certain, and then it did, and then another and another until finally, finally, when it was surely ramming itself into stomach and lungs it was so deep, John gave one last relieved sob and he was fully in.

Before that day, Sherlock had not had so much as a finger stuck up his hole, and now the full length of an alpha’s cock was inside him.  He could feel every inch of John’s shaft, hot and throbbing and leaving a deep ache inside him as his entire hole was forced to stay impossibly wide while the burn of the unfamiliar intrusion radiated all up and down inside him.

There was a time in Sherlock’s life when his natural curiosity made him wonder what it would be like to get fucked by an alpha, no matter that he had no intention of ever allowing it to happen.  This was nothing like he imagined.  He honestly didn’t know how to react to this.  It had been tortuously painful and now it was unpleasant and still rather painful but also strangely intimate as he was tied closer to John than he’d ever been with another human being, a bit of John inserted so deep inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever not feel John inside him even after the alpha pulled out.

And then John groaned a sigh of contentment as he was finally allowed to do what he had been trying to do all along and Sherlock started to shriek again in startled pain as his uncomfortably stretched opening was suddenly being stretched even more.  John’s knot swelled and triggered yet another orgasm in John, this time his seed going exactly where it was meant to, deep into Sherlock’s womb while his knot tied them together.  Which, in this case was a bit unfair as John’s entire length was thick enough to act as a knot, but that didn’t stop anatomy, or the horrendous swelling.

Now doubly forced together, John again groaned in pleasure and hugged his omega close, unfortunately shifting the position of his cock and causing Sherlock once again to shudder in helpless pain.

“Now I’m going to fill you and breed you and you’ll be mine forever,” John whispered, his voice kinder, more intimate than it had been before, more the person Sherlock knew John to be, rather than that horrible alpha intent on degrading and humiliating him with ridiculous threats.

Almost gently, John bit down at the same point he had roughly claimed before, and then his whole body shuddered as he triggered another release of sperm.

Sherlock honestly didn’t know if the bonding would take, what with his own omega anatomy thus far being completely unresponsive.  He felt a bit light headed and full and right in that moment, feeling the entire length of John inside him, John’s lips at his neck, his arms holding him close, Sherlock wasn’t entirely certain whether he wanted the bonding to work or didn’t.

Okay, the sex was painful and the humiliation was horrible, but it felt more warm than painful at the moment and something deep inside Sherlock, the irrepressible omega he had tried so hard to expel, felt content.

Sherlock had no idea how long they lay knotted together.  He fell asleep.

When he woke up, he found John had moved him to the bed.  Sherlock rolled over, for a moment not remembering what had happened until he was reminded by the deep ache in his core and the bruised feeling to his backside.  All in all, the rut hadn’t been as bad as Sherlock had feared.  At least, it didn’t feel like John had actually ruptured anything inside him, no matter what Sherlock had thought at the time.  He also didn’t feel anything like a bond.  That was probably a good thing.  Not a reason to feel disappointment. 

Then Sherlock turned his head and John was there.  He was staring at him, his eyes still dark with want, and Sherlock’s eyes slid down him inadvertently to land on his erect cock.

“Oh,” was all Sherlock said.  Of course John’s rut hadn’t run its course, not with Sherlock’s own body not giving it the proper responses, knotting or no knotting.  For one exhaustive moment, Sherlock contemplated running again.  He started crying instead, even as John climbed over him, pulling his legs wide and pushing himself into position.

Sherlock cried harder when the fucking began.  There was no waiting this time, no talk of wetting his pussy first, no slow easing his way in.  John started in hard, battering his way inside Sherlock’s swollen, used passage for the second time.  He didn’t stop when he was full inserted either.  He held onto Sherlock and he fucked him relentlessly.

Sherlock had thought himself resigned to this second go, but John was going at it so hard, his passage still sore from the first use and now, this time, it seriously felt like he was being beaten.  For the first few minutes Sherlock just cried softly and took it, but as John hammered him and hammered him and showed no signs of coming or slowing, suddenly Sherlock just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop, John, stop!” he screamed, and struggled desperately to pull away, to do anything, just to make the relentless rape end.

John was merciless.  He held him in his strong alpha arms and he didn’t give an inch or slow, no matter how Sherlock pulled or twisted or shoved or kicked or begged or sobbed.  And still the monstrous dick rammed in and out and in and out like a jack hammer.  Sherlock seriously couldn’t take it; it was too much.  He wanted nothing more than to pass out, and he couldn’t even do that, because apparently his body had decided it had enough of sleep and he had to endure the hard fuck and John raped him on and on.

“Take it, bitch,” John growled, “your fuck hole needs a hard thick cock in it.  Gonna fuck it day and night.  Gonna stuff it full ‘til I can’t get it up, and then I’ll go out and buy a good alpha dog and let it fuck you when I can’t and when the dog’s done with you and your hole’s all ruined from hard fucks, I’ll ram a pineapple in there and you’ll take it like the bitch omega slut you are.  Bet you can’t wait for that dog to come hammer you.  I’ll spread your ass cheeks and let it take your ass too.  Then I’ll invite over everyone we know and they can watch you being fucked like a dog bitch.”

Sherlock honestly didn’t even care what nonsense John was babbling at him.  All he cared about was that he was being fucked harder and longer than he even thought possible, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t make it stop.  He just had to take it, his body controlled and beaten and raped.

“Oh yeah, your ass is going to get fucked.  Maybe I’ll invite some people over to fuck your ass while I take care of your cunt.  Then someone else can fuck your throat and you’ll be so fucked you’ll never think yourself anything but a worthless omega whore bitch ever again.”

Then, finally, John suddenly stopped ramming into him.  In fact he pulled out entirely, only to flip Sherlock around onto his front, yank up his hips, and slam his cock back into Sherlock’s cunt from the other direction.

Sherlock howled, the change in position undoing what little his body had managed to do to get him used to the abuse it was taking, and then John was pounding him as hard as ever, the entire bed creaking in time to his harsh rhythm.

“Hey,” John said, after another several minutes of this new position, “I’m almost there.  Tell me you’re a whore bitch.  Tell me, and I might cum.”

“I’m a whore bitch,” Sherlock gasped out, willing by this point to agree to just about anything if it meant the relentless fucking would end.

“Say you’re a little bitch with a girly pussy.  Say you need my alpha cock.”

“I’m a little bitch with a girly pussy,” Sherlock managed to say, his desperation for it to end not quite strong enough to overshadow his humiliation at actually saying the words which caused the sentence to come out in a sort of sob.  “I need you-your alpha cock.  Please, John.”

It was enough.  Finally, finally, John rammed in three more times, harder than ever, and then just held himself there as his hot seed filled Sherlock deep inside.  Sherlock sobbed softly into his pillow as he felt the knot swell once more in his hole, locking them together, as he felt himself fill and fill until there was a distinct bulge in his belly from all the cum locked inside.

John let them both collapse down onto the bed, John on top, lying heavily on his bruised ass, the awkward position forcing Sherlock’s hips back almost painfully.

“Good girl,” John grunted after a bit, patting Sherlock’s hip.

They had been knotted for not quite half an hour when John came again, his cock twitching inside Sherlock while John let out soft, somewhat sleepy grunts of pleasure.  Then John rolled them onto the side, to the relief of Sherlock’s hips and the growing stretch in his belly from all the cum.

It wasn’t until John came into him a third time that Sherlock began to become concerned about how long they’d be locked together.  Up to then, he was just glad for the reprieve from being fucked.  But now, as more and more seed spurted into him, the uncomfortable sensation of being full was beginning to grow into the painful sensation of being too full.  Sherlock remembered what John had said about filling him so full he looked nine months pregnant.  But that was just ridiculous alpha posturing, right?  That wouldn’t actually happen.

The fourth time John came, when they had been locked together for a little over an hour, it hurt.  There was no more room, but between the thick shaft and the thicker knot, he was literally sealed up tight and still the seed kept coming and kept coming and Sherlock could feel his belly growing, stretching and bulging, and when he looked down he could actually see it growing with each spurt.

The fifth time John came, Sherlock started sobbing helplessly, begging John to stop.  John cooed at him gently, rubbing Sherlock’s growing belly.

“That’s it, baby.  By the time I’m done, you’ll have room to grow a whole rugby team in there.  You can take it.  You were made to take it.”

In the end, John’s knot stayed inflated for three hours and he came inside Sherlock no less than twelve times.  He didn’t look nine months pregnant by the end of it, but he did look at least six.  By the last time John came, John was practically purring with contentment at having filled his omega so well and Sherlock was trembling in sheer agony at being forced so full, his once flat belly engorged beyond belief.  He was still sobbing softly when he felt the hard and continuous pressure at the base of his cunt suddenly ease, and then he sobbed harder from relief.  John didn’t pull out, though, just lay there with Sherlock, still purring with contentment, his thick shaft not letting more than a slow trickle of seed pool out onto the mattress.

Sherlock had no idea how long they lay like that, lodged together while John’s seed slowly seeped from Sherlock’s cunt and formed a disgusting puddle between them.  After a bit, he realized his belly wasn’t so inflated.  Nor did it hurt anymore.  In fact, most of the pain had eased as soon as the knot vanished.  After a bit more, he suddenly realized that John had fallen asleep.

The exhausted, very omega part of Sherlock wanted to just close his eyes and join him.  The sensible part, the part that had let him pass as a beta his entire adult life, said ‘get out NOW’.

Getting away was easier thought than done.  John was still in him, for one, and easing himself off John could very well cause John to wake up.  And when he woke up, John would quite likely be ready for round three.

Two to six days of being fucked hard.  Sherlock had to find a way out.  He went slowly, pulling free of John’s arms almost as difficult as sliding himself off his shaft.  At least all that cum was good for something.  Feeling him slide free from deep inside felt strange but not painful or difficult.  A pillow helped to replace Sherlock in John’s arms.  And then Sherlock was free.

He had handcuffs in his nightstand.  John had taken him to Sherlock’s room, probably because there were less stairs and a bigger bed, but whatever the reason, it made it easier to quietly lock John’s wrists to the headboard.  And now even if John suddenly woke up, Sherlock was free.  John could spend the rest of his rut painfully begging for his omega to service him and afterwards they’d be just about even, because an alpha spending his rut next to an omega and not being allowed to touch was rumored to be quite as painful as being rammed in the crotch repeatedly for an hour.

Sherlock didn’t know whether to stay and watch the show or flee while he could.

He certainly shouldn’t have curled up back on the bed, after first throwing a duvet over the massive puddle in the middle, his head nestling close to the heady scent near John’s groin.  Sherlock felt so strange though; perhaps from the shock of being used so hard, or perhaps it was still sleep deprivation but he couldn’t quite make up his mind to pull away and leave.  John was so warm and comfy to curl up next to.  Not that Sherlock needed something warm to curl up to.  He was feeling quite warm himself, almost verging on a fever, and his cunt burned where John had used it.

He’d stay just a bit longer.  It’s not like John was going to be able to do anything.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Along with all the warnings from chapter one, this particular chapter includes foot sex (as part of the triple penetration. I personally see this as more of another aspect of the humiliation/rape than foot fetish, as neither Sherlock nor John have a particular thing for feet; John did it as a whim to get around the limitations of his handcuffs). If that kind of thing really isn't your thing, feel free to skip over that bit. Just skim down from the second time John warns he's going to stick his foot in to when John says "Need to knot you now" and that part will be all over and done with.

Sherlock awoke with a deep groan to the sound of wanton whimpers.  His core ached and burned, clinching down on nothing while a sensation rather like bleeding wet his thighs.  His entire backside burned where he had been beaten and his muscles ached like he had the flu.

His entire body was burning and aching and longing for something missing, and he curled in on himself, feeling miserable and pained and empty.

The whimpers continued on, half formed pleas and curses, and it was only as the bed shook around him that he realized he wasn’t the one making those noises.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, breathing deeply the scent of safety and want and need that permeated the bedroom.  “John.”

His core quivered within and a fresh spurt of liquid dribbled down, sliding along his erect cock and dripping into the duvet beneath.  It didn’t smell like blood; the twist of his body brought his nose close enough to scent something almost pleasant, though not exactly enticing.  Not like the scent of alpha. 

His muddled brain slowly acknowledged what was happening.  Heat.  It had been so long.  It should have been longer; perhaps never.  Somehow, John’s rut had overpowered his drugs after all.  Sherlock was actually in heat, or at least pseudo heat.  Perhaps even a full heat; it had been so long.

“Sherlock,” John’s voice barked out, in-between whimpers and grunts.  His name sounded half like a plea, half like a curse.

John.  John was there.  He was an alpha.  More than that, he was Sherlock’s alpha.  His was the face Sherlock thought of when the term ‘alpha’ was tossed around.  His was the measure to all other alphas, and they were all found wanting.  His John was there.  John should be able to take care of this slick, empty feel, this need.

He should, but he wasn’t.

“John?” Sherlock whimpered again, and strong legs encircled his waist, drawing him towards a hot torso, but no arms joined them, no teeth bent to bite at his neck, and that place between his legs that screamed for contact remained untouched.

Feeling confused and a bit betrayed, Sherlock uncurled enough to twist about and look up and…oh.  Yes.  He’d handcuffed John, hadn’t he?  Because John was being bad and Sherlock hadn’t wanted him to touch him again.

Except now he did want it.  No, he needed it.  And John couldn’t.

He was trying, of course.  His arms strained against the metal, his wrists already bloodied, his face twisted into a savage snarl.  His legs held Sherlock flush against him, against his massive erect penis.  Sherlock could feel John’s body jerking against his, not quite able to get the purchase he wanted from the way Sherlock bent away from him.  Enraged eyes glared down at his recalcitrant omega and Sherlock found himself shying away, bending his neck instinctively in an offering John couldn’t possibly reach to accept.

Logically, Sherlock knew there was no way John could reach him.  That didn’t stop the swooping feeling deep in his belly when no teeth claimed him.  It was like being abandoned.  Like being rejected.  It was a horrible, dark sensation and he found himself widening his legs in a desperate offering, begging for the alpha to descend.

John growled ferociously, furious, his legs spasming so tightly about Sherlock’s middle that Sherlock yelped in pain from the unexpected vise punching into his sides.  His legs opened further in response, his juices soaking uselessly into the bed, his beaten cunt spasming over nothing.

“Worthless bitch,” John growled, rutting his cock helplessly over Sherlock’s hip and into the air, and Sherlock, to his own horror, burst into tears.  Not so far gone that he wasn’t completely humiliated at his body’s reactions, he was too deep into his own blossoming heat to stop them.  That an alpha had him in his grip and wasn’t rutting in him, wasn’t accepting his gift, that in fact he was growling at him and calling him cruel names, all this combined to send his mood tumbling into a dark pit.

“When I get out of this,” John growled, his voice low and deep and primal, his words just barely articulate, “I’m going to beat your cunt so hard you’ll think what I did earlier was a kiss.”

 _Run_ , screamed Sherlock’s logical side, the side that burned in humiliation at his own body’s primal urges, the side that saw its transport’s needs as  a sort of betrayal, the part that recognized the danger John posed, the pain he could, and would, inflict.

John was chained.  He was not.  It should have been easy to run away.  The first two couplings had been absolute agony and he should have had no desire for a third.  He should have been eager to run away and leave John to his chains.

Sherlock’s heat burned through him, and he could no more leave than John could.

“Please, Alpha,” Sherlock whimpered instead.  “Please, please fill me.  I need you.”

“Show me, Bitch,” John growled, his voice rough, “Suck it.  Suck it like the cock slut you are.”

Still sobbing and trembling, his body a mess of aches and emptiness and heat, Sherlock nonetheless sat up on shaking legs and turned himself about within the confines of John’s legs to face the monstrous cock jutting up huge and purple against John’s front.

Hesitantly, his hands reached for it, and to his horror he found he wanted nothing more than to climb John and pull that massive length deep into his body to finally ease the deep ache inside.

“Please, John,” he moaned, squeezing the penis in his hands as he tried to force his trembling legs to hold him higher, to let him mount.

“No,” John growled, seeing Sherlock’s struggles and obviously knowing exactly what he wanted.

Sherlock sobbed at yet another denial, his open legs sliding apart further, so wide it hurt, and sending him down towards the bed and further away from his prize.

“Your fuck hole doesn’t deserve my meat.  You lick it,” John growled.  “Put it in your mouth.  Show me how good a whore you are.”

What had started as a hopeful position on his knees before John had devolved into a horribly painful position with legs still bent at the knee but parted, painfully so, to the point where he could feel just the feather-light touch of the duvet not quite touching the part of him that so desperately wanted to be touched.  It was pure torture, this almost touch, along with the burn of being stretched too far, with being rejected and degraded by his alpha.

It should have been simple to ease  at least some of the pain; he could have repositioned his legs at the very least, but somehow such simple moves were beyond him.

John’s words burned through him and he was incapable of any move whatsoever except to do as his alpha had ordered.  He bent forward, still grasping firmly at John’s flesh, and brought his tongue to the hot, glistening head.

John gasped as he made contact and Sherlock moaned, the taste of John’s cock awakening something deep within, something primal and needy, and without any urging he followed his tongue with his lips, not so much trying to mouth the massive, bulbous head as kissing it with parted lips, his tongue sipping gently at the wet fluid dribbling from the tip.

John’s legs, which had relaxed about him as Sherlock had maneuvered himself into position, reacted by encircling him completely, embracing him, while John threw his head back in a long, deep moan.

For that moment, with John beyond the ability to speak and the taste of John heady on Sherlock’s tongue, Sherlock felt some indescribable rightness that, just for a moment, fizzed over everything that was bad.

“Get on with it, bitch,” John growled after a bit, “Get it in your mouth.”

It was too big.  Sherlock couldn’t possibly open his mouth wide enough to take him.  Sherlock tried anyway, forcing his jaw so wide it hurt, and his mouth filled with John’s meat, hot and slick and too much.  He took as much as he could, until he was gagging on it, until it felt like he couldn’t breathe anything that wasn’t cock, and still it was barely a portion of what was on offer.

John jerked his hips up hard, impatiently, and it felt almost like a punch to his throat.  Sherlock gagged, instinctively trying to gasp in air through his mouth and getting nothing but cock.  He choked and pulled backwards, trying to free his mouth.

John couldn’t use his arms to stop him or force him back.  His legs, on the other hand, were perfectly free to do as they pleased and currently in the perfect position to hook over his shoulders.  Sherlock was just about to come free from John’s penis completely when John’s feet were at his head, forcing him downward onto his cock.

Sherlock panicked at the sensation, struggling with all his strength the pull free, but if anything John’s alpha legs were even stronger than his arms and he might as well have struggled against iron chains.  No matter how he twisted or shoved or pulled, he was trapped between those legs and forced to take in more of John’s meat than he thought physically possible.  It filled his mouth and rammed painfully against his throat.

“Take it, slut, eat my meat, gonna ram all the way down ‘til I’m fucking your stomach,” John growled, and his feet relentlessly forced Sherlock’s head harder and harder.

It wasn’t going to fit into Sherlock’s throat, not unless John actually wanted to kill him.  Sherlock was absolutely certain of this, in that spare part of his brain that wasn’t panicking that he couldn’t escape, couldn’t _breathe_.  John kept pushing and Sherlock’s throat hurt, and he couldn’t help but bite, trying anything to make this stop happening.  John didn’t even seem to notice, Sherlock’s mouth forced too wide to bite properly, especially when everything in his heat addled brain screamed against biting his alpha.

Sherlock wanted to beg, to cry, to promise anything and everything if John would let him pull free and ride him like his body ached to do, but he couldn’t do anything more than groan and John just pushed even harder in response.

When the head of John’s cock actually managed to breach his throat, Sherlock almost passed out.  He swallowed convulsively instead, and the massive dick inched in further, making an enormous bulge in his neck.  He had thought he couldn’t breathe before.  He had been, actually, in quick helpless gasps through his nose.  He could still breathe now, but as though through a straw.  Between the pain of an alpha sized dick being forced down his throat and the sudden reduction in air, he literally saw stars.

“That’s it,” John grunted, his own voice a bit breathless from exertion and pleasure.  “You don’t deserve the pleasure of my dick up your fuck hole.  Just take it, take it all, you worthless whore, and maybe I’ll piss in your hole later so it can feel a bit of what it’s missing.  I’m gonna go all the way down and knot your throat.”

Sherlock’s eyes had been watering, throughout this, but those words brought the first true sob as John’s dick stabbed relentlessly down his throat.  Sherlock actually had to bend his own body about to allow it, just to ease some of the pain.  His nose started to clog with his sobs and he wheezed helplessly, his head starting to see dark spots behind the stars.  Still John was relentless, and to Sherlock’s horror, he discovered that John actually could shove quite far down Sherlock’s throat without Sherlock dying or passing out, so far down that Sherlock felt the pressure of it against the top edge ribcage.

“Pathetic whore,” John growled, when he had forced himself as deep as he could go and still wasn’t all the way down his throat.  Certainly not deep enough to make good on the threat to knot his throat, as unlikely as it had been when John first said it.  Then he started jerking his hips, fucking Sherlock’s throat as hard as he could from his position.  The only thing that stopped Sherlock from vomiting and choking from the sensation and pain was that his throat was too full for anything to get past it.

And the whole time John raped his throat, the bed between his thighs continued to soak up spurt after spurt of juices as his cunt begged for his alpha’s seed, seed that would doubtless soon be dumped uselessly into his stomach instead.

No matter what Sherlock did, he could do nothing but kneel there and take it, and at the same time, not take it where he really, really needed it.

It is said that, as horrible as it is for an alpha to spend its rut next to an omega and not be allowed to rut in it, it’s even worse for an omega to spend its heat with an alpha and for the alpha to refuse to fuck it.  Sherlock could well believe that now, for as horrific and painful and humiliating as it was for a bound John to still manage to force himself down Sherlock’s throat, the fact that his cunt was still empty was an even worse pain on a completely different scale.  It wasn’t a physical pain, though he did ache in the emptiness between his thighs; it was that dark, swooping sensation somewhere in his belly that told him he was worthless and useless and unwanted.

An omega in heat, between a rutting alpha’s thighs, and the alpha didn’t want him.  There was nothing lower than that.

Sherlock had no idea how long this went on, with John fucking his throat and holding him down with his feet at his head, before John changed the position.  Not to pull out, or to come, no.  Nor did he push down harder or try something that would definitely have hurt Sherlock, possibly killing him.  In some ways, his new position proved to be a kindness.  In others, Sherlock almost wished he had chosen to break his throat and kill him instead.

Part of Sherlock’s twisting, both in an attempt to escape and in the sheer need to rearrange the angle of his own throat so that John could fit, had repositioned his lower body so that it was slid further from John, though still spread painfully.

John started to rearrange his own body slightly, particularly so that one foot could continue to hold Sherlock’s head in place with the same iron force.  The other foot twisted about, slid down the front of his torso, and delved between Sherlock’s thighs.

Sherlock’s entire body jolted in shock at finally being touched there, the sheer need in his body making that touch almost painful through his overwrought nerves.

John rubbed against his cunt with his toes, coating his foot in Sherlock’s juices, and Sherlock groaned around John’s cock, trying to grind down on pure instinct but barely able to move thanks to the imprisonment of his throat.

“Look at that,” John said, his own voice deep and breathy.  “So desperate you’d fuck yourself on my foot if I let you.  Needy, pathetic little cockslut.  I’m going to fuck you with my foot and you’re going to moan like the little bitch in heat you are and love it.”  Sherlock felt his face glowing with humiliation even as he desperately tried to spread his legs further, to prepare for his hole to be filled at last.  He hardly even noticed the cock jutting down his throat now, except in the sense that it didn’t allow him to move about as he liked, and stopped him from begging or pleaing or giving in and just wailing.  It still hurt, but almost distantly to the sheer need in his core to be filled.

Without warning, John got as much leverage as possible when bound by the limitations of handcuffs and his own dick stuffed down his omega’s throat, and instead of plunging his toes into Sherlock’s heat, he pulled away.  Only for a second.  Then he kicked Sherlock’s cunt as hard as his limitations allowed.

The pain was beyond anything Sherlock thought possible.  His entire body rose slightly from the force and for one eternal moment it was almost as if nothing of Sherlock existed but for that one tiny explosion of agony radiating from his core.  It was like someone had grabbed a white-hot iron and pressed it against the most sensitive location on an omega’s body, especially when it had already been beaten and raped raw, and then neglected for ages while it begged for touch.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t exist.  The entire universe was located within that pain between his legs, radiating deep into his core.  And even as he tried to howl, his throat spasming helplessly from the meat jammed down its length, his core clinched down on nothingness and sent a flood of juices over John’s foot where it now nestled, the nail of John’s big toe sadistically stabbing at the rim of his anus.

“But first,” John growled, once the first shock of agony had passed just enough for Sherlock to become aware of the world around him again, as the hot agony dulled slowly into merely painful throbs and the cruel sharpness of nails, “Before my foot fucks you like you’re begging for, I promised you a beating.  You think you’re the big tough alpha, gonna lock me up and make me howl for it while you sit there and laugh?  I’ll show you who the alpha is.”

And he kicked again, with a wet slapping noise as his slick foot beat against his gushing cunt.

The third kick was so hard Sherlock’s entire lower body was raised half a foot off the bed before falling back down again, the only thing stopping Sherlock from collapsing was the way his throat was anchored around John’s dick.

John groaned in pleasure as Sherlock sobbed, helpless to do anything other than take the beating while his alpha continued fucking his throat, only letting him have gasps of air snorted through clogged nostrils while his cunt was tortured with pain beyond bearing.

If ever there was a time Sherlock wished he could will himself unconscious, this was it.  His hands desperately grabbed at john, clinging to him even as earlier they had tried to shove him away.  John kicked again.  And then again.  Just as though Sherlock’s cunt was a football for him to bounce on his foot, John found a rhythm in time to his shallow thrusts up Sherlock’s throat, and now the hard bone of John’s shin slammed into his cunt again and again and again.

Sherlock could not think for pain.  He could do nothing but hold onto John and sob as he was beaten and fucked and raped until stars and spots danced together before his eyes, until the entire world went gray around the edged, until it was on the very verge of going away completely as Sherlock either passed out at last, or was driven entirely insane.

And then John’s cock spasmed within his throat, and he swore he could feel as his stomach was pumped and pumped full of John’s seed while John moaned long and hard in pleasure, one foot pushing so hard on Sherlock’s head that the dick actually managed to squeeze another half centimeter in, the other jerking hard and fast, no longer kicking or even consciously trying to cause pain, but causing it nonetheless with every jerk.

Finally, John stopped, the foot at Sherlock’s head dropping down to his shoulder and the other relaxing on the bed, Sherlock’s body lying on top of it while Sherlock continued to shake and sob as the agony receded just enough that he was no longer in danger of escaping it by passing out.

“There,” John said, once he had his breath back.  “Now, don’t you miss that light smacking I gave you before?”

Sherlock, of course, could say nothing.  John was still forced down his throat, still hard even, and after that short break, Johns hips gave a micro jerk and he grunted.

“Alright, bitch,” said John, “You’ve taken your beating, so now for your reward.  Get to work on my cock; I’ve done enough of the work for now, and your cunt will get the foot rogering it’s just begging for.  Go on.  Fuck your throat on my dick.”

Sherlock whimpered, tried to make his muscles work to start sliding John’s dick free of his throat, and failed utterly.

“Get to it,” John ordered, his voice forceful and full of command.  “Or do you want another beating?” the foot wedged between his thighs twitched and Sherlock gagged on the residual sparks of agony that radiated from that tiny movement.

Between the alpha command and the fear of pain, Sherlock finally forced himself to slide up, the feel of the dick sliding up is throat enough to remind his entire neck that this really hurt, and he whimpered again.  He wanted nothing more than to keep going until that monstrous dick popped free from his throat, and then he wanted to climb John and ride him and feel his seed pump deep into his womb while John claimed him.

John didn’t want him.  He didn’t even bother moving his foot back to Sherlock’s head again; Sherlock obediently forced John’s dick down again.

“That’s it, cockslut.  Suck it down.  Take it all.  Now, get up on your knees, and I’m gonna ram my toes in your girl pussy, and you’re gonna love it, worthless cocksucking whore.”

Getting to his knees again was nearly impossible, between useless muscles and the awkward angle from the throat fucking, but his desperate need for that tiny bit of kindness, for something to push inside him, even if it was a foot, was enough to make him struggle to raise himself up.  His knees slid on his own slickness, making it harder, but John helped, nudging him upwards with his foot.  It hurt, but the anticipation almost overrode that, making something almost like pleasure quiver deep within his core.

It took a few tries for John to feel his way into position, especially with the distraction of Sherlock bobbing his head up and down on his cock, the heat of his impossibly tight throat squeezing his dick, but suddenly there was a very odd sensation between Sherlock’s thighs as all five of John’s toes pushed inside him in one go.

The odd duosensation of pain and pleasure radiated up from his cunt making his knees almost drop him down again and he choked for a moment on John’s cock before he managed to get his breath back.

“There you go, bitch,” John said, “Taking my foot.  I think I need pictures of you being stuffed from in front and behind.  I’m gonna take them to the yard and tell everyone how you loved getting fucked by my filthy, sweaty foot, how you begged to take it.  Maybe I’ll just do this for all your heats, and your useless womb will lay flat and empty like the worthless bitch you are.  And everyone will look at your flat little belly and know you’re a worthless omega bitch who can’t even get her alpha to pump her full of babies.”

If Sherlock had his mouth free, he might have pointed out that it takes a worthless alpha to not be able to pump his omega full of babies.  He didn’t have his mouth free, and his face burned almost as much as his beaten cunt as he continued to take John’s cock while his foot slid deeper and deeper into his core, forcing open his walls still swollen from the pounding before and yet so desperate to be filled.

It hurt, horrifically, and yet he groaned, and when John slid his foot out slightly then shoved it back in, his entire body suddenly quivered as Sherlock came harder than he had ever come in his live, his body clinging to the wonderful foot pushing inside him in the hope that foot would soon offer sperm.  For that moment, pain did not exist, nothing existed, but for that delicious explosion deep within his core.

“There you go,” John said, when the trembling stopped.  “You’d let me shove anything up there now, wouldn’t you?  Beg for it.  I could show you a rotten corpse’s hand and you’d beg for it.  I could show you a cactus.  Or Anderson’s prick.  Or Mycroft’s.  I could invite your brother over and tell you to fuck yourself on his cane while sucking his foot and you would.”

The world was too raw and rough as he came down from the high.  John rammed his foot inside him again and Sherlock sobbed around his cock, the sensations too much and not enough all at the same time.

And then something poked at his anus.

Sherlock hadn’t even noticed that John’s foot had moved, no longer needed to force his head down.  One foot kept fucking his cunt and now the other, slick with Sherlock’s juices still dribbling down his thighs, poked at his other hole.

Sherlock made a real effort in that moment to pull himself off John’s cock, not even because he couldn’t take sucking that monstrous thing a second longer, but from the need to beg.  He needed to beg John to stop, to not take his final virginity with his foot and rip Sherlock apart, for him to stick his cock where Sherlock truly needed it, for John to be the good, kind alpha Sherlock knew him to be.

He discovered he couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t pull John’s cock all the way out of his throat.  John’s foot in his cunt, his toe now actually in his anus, he couldn’t pull away far enough to actually get John’s cock all the way out, not without twisting himself about in a way that, by the feel of it, would rip his own throat out.

He was trapped, between the feet and the dick, and slick toes, two at once, now stretched his anus painfully wide while the remaining toes’ nails jammed into sensitive skin.

He tried to scream and groaned instead as John finally managed the right angle to get in all his toes.

His hole was spread impossibly wide around the toes, but shallowly, as they barely breached his anal passage.  John groaned happily, his other foot sliding in to the ankle, his angle wrong to manage any deeper.

Not only were feet humiliating, but they weren’t enough, didn’t take him as deeply as his body begged for, and the toenails scraped at tender walls in a way a dick simply didn’t.

The foot in his anus pushed in further and he could feel both feet sliding against each other, almost as though John were trying to touch his toes together inside him.

“Look at you,” John said, his voice almost awed now, rather than cruel or mocking.  “You were made for this.  Triple fucked by your alpha and taking it all like the bitch in heat you are.  This is how I’m going to have you from now on.  I’ll get some nice dildos made in the shape of my cock and feet, and whenever I’ve had enough of you, I’ll stuff them in your greedy little holes and make you hold them until I’m ready to fuck you again.  Maybe I’ll make a cock gag for your pretty throat as well, and everywhere you go, everyone will see you being triple stuffed and fucked by your alpha.”

The feet moved inside him, fucking his swollen, raw cunt and his virgin anus without mercy.  The sensation was too much and Sherlock had stopped fucking John’s cock down his throat but John didn’t seem to notice, enjoying warming his feet in Sherlock’s tight holes until a second orgasm exploded through Sherlock’s core, as shocking and unexpected as the first.

Then John jerked his hips a couple of times, before suddenly jerking his feet free, a flood of juices following them as he moved the slick, hot feet to Sherlock’s hips, not to hold him this time or pull him closer, but to push.

“Need to knot you, now,” he growled, “Gonna knot you and bite you and fill your womb until you almost burst.  Remember how good and full you were before?  I’m gonna fill you twice that.  Now climb up here and let me have your neck.”

As he spoke, Sherlock finally, finally, slid that dick free from his throat until it popped from his mouth, slick with saliva and precum.  The taste still filled Sherlock’s mouth and the ache in his jaw and his throat left phantom sensations that he was still filled.

Exhausted and pained though he was, this command of his alpha, offering him everything he would have begged for before, had he been able to speak, was enough to get him to move, to crawl over ruined cloths wet through and climb up John’s torso until he felt John’s tongue across his face and in his ear, then down to his throat, to his shoulder, to a nipple where he sucked hard while Sherlock instinctively moved himself until the head of John’s cock was where it needed to be.

Sherlock practically dropped himself on him, howling with a mixture of relief, pleasure, and pain as he impaled himself on the entire length of John’s massive dick in one go.  His core burned with relief and pain, that somehow translated as pleasure while his nipple throbbed where John’s lips had torn away as Sherlock slid down and out of reach.  Then hot lips were at his neck again, feeling from the outside what his dick had felt from within, teeth nipping lightly and tongue teasing over skin for a taste.

“John,” Sherlock groaned, fully sunken into place, all his strength seeming to have left him and he wanted nothing more than for John to grab him in his strong arms and roll them over and pound him long and hard and fill his core and claim him completely.

John couldn’t grab him or roll on top of him or do much more than small micro thrusts.  His lips pulled from that point between neck and shoulder he had been exploring to growl, “Ride me, bitch.  Hard.” Before he latched on again.

Sherlock tried, forcing exhausted muscles to work, and was rewarded by new sensations deep within his core, a pleasure so sharp it almost hurt blending together with actual pain that was so agonizing it was almost pleasure.  John sucked harder, teeth teasing, not quite biting, and Sherlock tried to ride him harder, and then harder still, until the pleasure sparked away into too much, until the pain was just pain, but it wasn’t enough, and he couldn’t stop because he needed this so bad and his alpha was groaning in pleasure, and every part of Sherlock’s body felt on fire, somewhere between pain and warmth and pleasure.

When the orgasms finally ripped through him, at the exact moment John’s teeth clamped down, John's seed releasing deep into Sherlock’s womb, it was so intense Sherlock didn’t even feel the pain of the bite, knowing nothing but white hot completeness for the full minute it took his body to stop coming.  His sight whited out and then his mind went entirely blank.

He didn’t come back from it until the second time John came inside him, his knot locking them tightly together, Sherlock’s belly already starting to bulge from all the semen filling his womb.

“Good girl,” John murmured, softly, nuzzling at him with his head, tongue lapping at his bite.  “Such a good girl, taking all my seed.  You’re going to have so many babies in there, we’ll have enough for a football team when they come out.  Those yarders are going to be so jealous of you, having all my babies.”

Sherlock, to his own utter shock, started purring.  He knew that omegas could purr, but he’d never in his life done that before.  Then again, he’d never been fucked, or claimed, or bred before either.

John shifted in surprise at the gentle vibrations coming off his omega, then nuzzled him again.

“Awake now, darling?  You’re pussy has had a good pounding, hasn’t it.  You’re going to feel me for a month to come.  I beat you so good, and now I’m filling you up, and you’re going to be my good little omega and take it all.”  Then, a moment later, “I want to hold you so bad.”  Sherlock stopped purring momentarily, because he wanted that too, and knowing that it was his own fault that John couldn’t made the content feeling recede and a horrible swooping sensation return.  John nuzzled him again, licking at his chin before pushing his lips to Sherlock’s in an oddly chaste kiss, considering Sherlock could still taste his dick on his tongue.

The soft peck came again, to the corner of his mouth, and then John licked his lips before slipping inside and tasting the back of Sherlock’s teeth.

John had come two more times, and Sherlock was just beginning to find the position to uncomfortable to lean against John when Mrs. Hudson came into the room.

“Yoohoo!” her voice called from outside the door, “Don’t mind me, boys, but I thought you might like some…oh.”

If it had been just about anyone else, barging into their room in the midst of John’s claiming of his omega, both men would probably have reacted with growls and threats that they may or may not have been able to carry out, bound as they were, John by handcuffs and Sherlock by John’s knot.

But Mrs. Hudson was not only a beta, and therefore not a particular threat of any kind to either of them, but she had long ago been scent marked as family to the primal parts of their brains that cared about that kind of thing, even if neither had ever acknowledged it.

So instead of being driven into a primal rage, John huffed in an exasperated manner while Sherlock tried to bury his burning face into John’s chest and pretend she wasn’t there and hadn’t seen them in the position they were in.

“Now Sherlock, really,” Mrs. Hudson said in a scolding manner rather than doing the normal and expected thing, which would be to leave the room and pretend she’d never come in in the first place.  “Handcuffs?  You could have at least used the padded kind.  John’s poor wrists are all torn to shreds.  How long has he had you like this?”

“Poor John?!” Sherlock demanded, so incredulous that he forgot to be humiliated.  “He went into rut and forced himself on me.  I was defending myself.”

“And how did that work out for you?” Mrs. Hudson asked, still giving him such a disapproving look that Sherlock found himself twisting away again to try and hide his face in John’s chest.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson,” John said.  “I gave him a good smacking for it.  And I still managed to stuff all three of his holes at once even after he chained me.  I fucked him with my feet.”

Sherlock’s face could not get any more red.  He tried to weld it to John, though it was difficult to do because the bulge in his womb got in the way.  If Mrs. Hudson had been a normal sort of old lady, she should have been shocked by John’s words.  She should have been more sympathetic to Sherlock’s plight.  She was not a normal sort of old lady.

“Good for you,” she said to John.  “This one needs a short leash.  Here, now.  Is that the key there?  Let me just undo them for you, and then I’ll leave you two to it.  Oh, and there’s tea in the kitchen, though I expect by the time you’re done here it’ll be stone cold.  Perhaps I should bring it in?”

“Go away,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s chest.

“Yes, thank you,” John said.  “We could use rehydrating.”

The only good thing to come from the intrusion was that John’s arms finally encircled Sherlock with their warmth.  And Sherlock actually was rather thirsty.  Other than that, this had to be the most mortifying experience of his life.  He hoped John wasn’t going to tell all of their friends how he fucked Sherlock with his feet.


End file.
